


The Slaves of Men and Gods

by bacchantetriste



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Angst, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchantetriste/pseuds/bacchantetriste
Summary: Achilles visits Agamemnon on the eve of their campaign against Hector.





	The Slaves of Men and Gods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sleepless_Malice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/gifts).



After he had drowned the dirt with bitter tears, after he had torn his clothes and wrenched out his hair, after his throat had grown hoarse and his mouth tasted like stale blood, after agony had consumed him and annihilated all joy, Achilles thirsted for war. 

He turned away from the cold body of his beloved Patroclus. He could no longer bear the tragic softness of his form. He swore that he would avenge his companion’s death by cutting down and tearing apart all those who had opposed him in this life. He would war until murderous Hector was dead and the golden city of Troy was ash and dust. 

Achilles dressed himself in his glorious god-forged armour, and leapt into his chariot, urging his sleek horses towards the main Achaean camp. As he made to speed away from his tent, Thetis called out to him. While Achilles had clung to Patroclus’ corpse, weeping and kissing his lips and cheeks, Thetis had burned with anguish. She had petitioned the gods for his heavenly armour, for she wanted to see Hector murdered and maimed for having stolen her son’s lover. Now, watching her son leave, she remembered the prophecies and her heart ached. She truly did not wish for her son a short life, his great glory extinguished at the gates of Troy. 

Thetis implored him, “My child, I told you that there was no hope in mourning and urged you to avenge Patroclus’ death, but I spoke wrong to spur you down a road where death waits at the end. Your life is short, and the deaths of a thousand Trojans will not bring your Patroclus back!” She begged through tears, “I loved Patroclus as I love you, because he protected you and brought you great joy, but now that he is gone I wish for you a long and peaceful life. Return home, to Phthia. Fill yourself with happiness. Take for yourself a new lover. Only choose a woman or a beautiful youth, not a warrior; not a man who would remind you of what you lost!”

Achilles was unmoved by his mother’s words. His soul ached for Patroclus. He yearned for the comfort known only by true lovers, and pain swelled within his heart. He threw down his helm and cried out, “You say that you loved Patroclus, but now you want me to forget about him! I loved Patroclus, but I was not born to love. I cannot simply fill my heart again to replace him. Only war will avenge my loss. My heart will be joyous after I have broken Hector’s beautiful body, and stripped him limb by limb of the armour he stole from me. I will not return home until I have hauled Hector’s corpse behind my chariot and razed Troy to the ground.” 

Thetis reached for his face, taking his burning cheeks in her hands. His bright eyes contorted between tears of anguish and fury, and his mouth snarled and trembled at times. Still, he sought comfort in her touch. Then, he suddenly turned his beautiful face from her and spurred his chariot away. She sensed that something deep inside of him had been decided. Long ago, she had tried to escape a trap by turning into a flame, a lion, a serpent; any form that she could think of, but she had learned that there was no form that could escape destiny. 

 

Looking down from Olympus, Hera saw Achilles, in all his golden fury, hurrying towards Agamemnon’s tent. She flew to Zeus in a rage. “Your man is about to kill my man!” she cried, for Zeus loved Achilles and Hera loved Agamemnon, the king of Mycenae, and lord of all the Achaeans.

Zeus stayed her hand, “The affairs of men are difficult for women to understand. A woman either loves or hates. But for a man, love and hate are one and the same. Man loves what he detests. He wars the most with his countrymen, and he makes love to his sworn enemies. So do not fear. No harm will come to Agamemnon from this union.” Then Zeus drew a mass of dark clouds over the sky so that Hera could no longer look down upon Agamemnon’s camp.

 

Agamemnon’s men grimaced as Achilles approached with rage in his eyes, but Agamemnon dismissed his guards with a gesture of his hand. He recognized the pain in Achilles’ eyes, and said, “Achilles, what disturbs you now? Did we not make peace? Are you not pleased with your gifts?” 

Achilles replied, “I care not for gifts, I think only of war; war is a far sweeter joy. I crave blood and destruction!”

“Swift-footed Achilles,” said Agamemnon, “the time is not ripe for battle. We wait for daybreak. Return to your camp and sleep.”

Achilles clasped Agamemnon’s hand and said, “I swear to you, by Zeus and all the gods, that I will not sleep, nor will I return to my tall ships until I have struck down Hector and his brothers.”

Agamemnon smiled. “Then you will not return to your ships. Dine with me tonight.” 

“No mortal food will pass my lips until Hector is dead and I have stabbed his corpse a thousand times!” 

“Drink with me, I will tell you stories of my family that will amuse you, and further rouse your passion for bloodshed. You know that my family was cursed by the gods. Brother fought brother, and they ate the flesh of their own sons.” 

Achilles abated and put down his golden helm, and his beautiful shield that was as bright and as round as the moon. He drank Agamemnon’s wine until his lips and teeth were stained red and bloodlike, and he grew flushed and heated. 

“Now that you have returned to us, you will want for nothing,” Agamemnon told him. “You will have the greatest share of the spoils of war, and I will give you my daughter’s hand in marriage. You and I both will be kings.”

“I care not for kingdoms or spoils of war. I seek only to avenge Patroclus.”

“You loved him,” said Agamemnon. 

Achilles cast his eyes down and said nothing. 

“Briseis does not please you then?” 

“I care nothing for her. I cared for my honour! What right did you have to steal my war prize?” Achilles spat. 

“I had no right to her, but I did not steal her. All the time that I kept her in my tent, I did not once touch her. I hoped that she would grow to love me of her own will. She wept when I told her that she must return to you,” said Agamemnon. 

“Liar! She loves me.”

“You killed her husband and her brothers, and then you lay with her. How could you expect love to blossom in her heart?”

“These are the ways of war,” Achilles spoke.

Agamemnon towered over Achilles. He was older, manlier, and fiercer. He was a beautiful and majestic king. His long hair was thick and sleek, and his beard was streaked with grey.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” he said. “You promised to marry her, but what of the other women you enslaved and carried away from their homes? Did you promise to marry them too? Long ago, your father stole your mother from the sea. She tried to escape him by turning herself into a hundred different beasts, but he held her fast and forced himself onto her. When you were born, she must have hoped that you would not grow to be cruel like your father. She loves you. She still sees in you the little baby who babbled on her lap and brought her joy in those dark times. I see you as who you really are.”

Achilles lashed out, clasping Agamemnon by the throat, saying, “Arrogant man! You have no right to speak of me in this way!” 

Agamemnon shrugged off Achilles’ hands and laughed. “Do not think that I insult you! I admire your cruelty. The gods of war do not reward the meek. I am proof of that.” 

He allowed his robes to fall from his body. His limbs were shining and strong. His skin was scarred and bruised from the years of war that he had faced, always thrusting himself into the heart of the battle. Light white scars lined his chest and belly. His thigh bore a deep and crooked scar from a spear that had never faded. His wounded arm was still stinging with pain, and bound with fabric. 

Achilles was fascinated and outraged by the king. He gripped Agamemnon’s neck, clawing and twisting at him, as if to choke him. Agamemnon did not struggle, instead using his strength to pull Achilles closer to him, wrestling Achilles underneath him. He sucked bruises down the skin of Achilles’ beautiful young neck. Achilles struggled in his grasp, like a swan in a cage helplessly flapping its wings. 

Finally, Achilles cried, “When you called for the raids on the Trojans and were outnumbered, you said that you acted on false dream sent by Zeus. When you stole Briseis from me, you blamed Zeus for your greed. Tell me, is it Zeus who inflames your loins now?” 

He struck out at Agamemnon. They fell against each other and grappled and wrestled in the dirt. Agamemnon grasped Achilles, pulled up his pteruges and forced apart his legs. Achilles cried out, for it seemed so long since a man had taken him like this. He desired him, although he knew that Agamemnon would still have taken him like this even if he did not. He felt Agamemnon press his erection between his thighs. He thought that if he closed his eyes, he could feel Patroclus. Agamemnon had the same beard and taut muscles, and he made the same deep moans that Patroclus would have done as he spent himself between Achilles’ thighs. 

They lay together while tears flowed down Achilles’ cheeks. He felt Agamemnon’s wet discharge across his thighs. His muscles were tense and ached most beautifully. Agamemnon embraced him, and wiped his tears away with his large warm fingers. Achilles choked, remembering when Patroclus had held him as close as this. “You can pity me all you want, but you know nothing of grief,” he snarled. 

Agamemnon spoke, “There is a river in Boetia. The water is so warm there in the summer. After my first conquests, I built a temple there.” Achilles grew annoyed. What did he care for an old man’s memories? 

“When I was a young man, I waited beside the river praying. It seemed to me to be the edge of the world. Before I sailed for Troy I returned there for the last time, but I never dared to even touch the waters there. I fell in love with a man named Argynnus when I saw him bathing in that river. Years later, in this same river, he drowned. Cephisus stole him away that day. No mortal could have Argynnus. He was made captive by the gods; for no crime other than his beauty. I will never forget my hatred for the waters that smothered him. 

“When he was stolen from me, I grieved, but it was not long until that grief hardened into avarice. War became my mistress, and grew to love all that I could attain from her. I even grew to forget the boy that I had loved. I see him in you. You are almost as beautiful as he was. Why hasn’t a god stolen you away? 

“I would that I was the son of a god and I had the power to plead Poseidon to strike Cephisus with an earthquake to make him return my Argynnus to me. But no favours will be bestowed unto me. I am a fool of the gods. I no longer trust the dreams that the gods deign to favour me with. Still, every night, Death claws at my chest with knives, leaving me choking with blood.” 

Achilles softened when he heard Agamemnon’s honeyed words and said, “We are great men. We exist only to appease the whims of the gods. This is our doom and our blessing. We are the captives of the gods, and to resist our fate is futile. I have even tried to raise my hand and reach for my sword to kill you, but the gods forbid me.” Achilles remembered his mother’s words: _Take for yourself a new lover. Only choose a woman or a beautiful youth, not a warrior; not a man who would remind you of what you lost_ , and said, “The gods would not have us war, but they would not have us love each other, either. Tonight, the clouds conceal us from the wills of the gods, and the darkness will obscure our true identities. Now take me as you once took Argynnus.”

So Agamemnon stripped Achilles of his bronze breastplate, the heavy armour crashing to the floor, exposing his taut frame. He shivered before Agamemnon, his shiny chest and limbs glistened, and his red hair shone in the light of the fire like leaves in autumn. Agamemnon licked and sucked on his nipples, licking the sensitive area around it in little circles, and sucking on the delicate tip. 

Next, he helped him to undo his greaves with the silver ankle clasps, and his lips bent at the edge of his ankles, and his beard brushed at his feet. Agamemnon kissed his feet, and all along his beautiful and muscular calves and thighs, until he reached the golden-red hair of his sex. 

Then Agamemnon spread oil over Achilles’ muscles, working the cold liquid into his skin, until it was warm and soft. Finally, Agamemnon pressed his slick fingers inside Achilles, working him open. He would not pleasure himself chastely between Achilles’ thighs as he had before. He pushed himself deep into Achilles, his powerful manhood conquering the young hero.

With each stroke inside of him, Achilles could feel a tension build within his loins. He raised his legs and gripped Agamemnon’s arms, pushing back into his thrusts. As he approached the height of his pleasure, Achilles cried out for Patroclus. Agamemnon snarled and grasped him by the neck with one hand, and said, “I am Agamemnon, lord of men! Do not play me for a fool with your childish fantasies.” 

Achilles grew elevated. “Patroclus!” he cried out as soon as Agamemnon released his throat. The pressure was reapplied, and his breath failed him. They struggled with each other. Achilles would wreck his throat to shout “Patroclus!” clenching himself around Agamemnon as he did so, until Agamemnon pinned him down so hard that he could not breathe. Finally, Agamemnon pulled out of Achilles in disgust, shouting, “I refuse to be a vessel for your desire for Patroclus!”

Achilles, empty and on the brink of his release, seized his own manhood in desperation, and pleaded, “Brilliant Agamemnon, forgive me! I forgot myself.” But Agamemnon turned away from him. Achilles cried out, “Agamemnon, lord of men, please, I am weak and need you to ruin me. Take me, Agamemnon, my lord, _my king_.” 

So Agamemnon drove himself deep into Achilles, and became relentless in his lovemaking. Achilles, his manhood untouched, shuddered and moaned with every thrust. Finally, he leaked wet cum onto his beautiful chest, and a dark and mournful cry rang out throughout all of Agamemnon’s camp. 

A great wind came up that night, and blew apart the clouds, and found them sleeping there, Achilles and Agamemnon, all shining limbs, with glittering bronze swords and golden-crested horsehair helms at their side.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day my dear!


End file.
